


Bloodstained Feathers

by liliaeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bloodplay, Dominant/Top Castiel, Dubious Consent, Implied Underage, M/M, NSFW Art, Non Consensual, Slavery, Submissive/Bottom Dean, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lucifer won the first battle in heaven and sent Michael to hell for standing up against him, humanity became servants to heaven. Dean and Sam Winchester were sold to the artist artisan Castiel, creator of heaven’s weapons .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marlene novalis](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=marlene+novalis).



> I am so sorry. This is not yet finished, I will be posting the first few chapters that are done, and will be posting the rest of them later on. I do promise that this will get finished and that there is an ending planned. I just didn’t want to rush things just to be able to slap the end on it.
> 
> Thanks so much to cailetrille for her help with betaing, any remaining errors are purely my fault

[](http://beta.photobucket.com/)  


As he carefully placed his feet on the scarce cobbles not covered in mud, Castiel wished he hadn’t listened to Balthazar. If it were up to him, the two of them would have flown straight to the market. If they had, they wouldn’t have had to walk amongst the filth and detritus of the human streets. The angel had to fight the urge to pinch his nose or cut off his senses in a notion at self defense instead. He couldn’t understand why these animals didn’t bother to live better, how they tolerated the stench, or allowed their children to run around in dirty tattered clothing instead of caring for them the way even the lowliest angel in the garrison would provide for his or her property. It made him wonder the wisdom of allowing any human to live on their own, rather than under an angel's guardianship.

The only reason that Castiel had bothered to join his brother on this trip was because Balthazar had promised to show him a store that excelled in the brewing of quality paints, far beyond what the stores in New Paradise provided. Human paint was inert of course, since it lacked a primal ingredient. But once he acquired a new Catalyst, that in and of itself should not be a problem. They arrived at the dye store and Castiel sighed and turned away as his brother started flirting with some of the human labor girls. They seemed suitably submissive, but Castiel didn’t see the need for the effort. If he wanted a human bed warmer, he’d just buy one at the market.

A siren called the girls back to work, and they left with a wistful look at the angel that had deigned to give them his attention, Balthazar whistled at their departure before following Castiel into the storefront. Castiel could see that the place didn't just sell dye, there was a workhouse in the back, some of it hidden behind walls, while most of it was in clear sight of customers. There was a teenager working the mechanism for the pigments, his brow covered in sweat as he worked the heavy machine to careful perfection. Castiel couldn’t help but appreciate the young human’s dedication to proper work.

“My Lords.” Both angels turned around to face the human that had addressed them. “How may I assist you?” Castiel could read the pure greed and self importance in the man’s aura. He would almost want to step out right this second, if only to tear down the little mud monkey’s barely hidden arrogance. Believing himself to be above his station.

Balthazar beat him to any chance at leaving, turning to the man with a cheerful smirk. “My brother here heard of your state of the art pigments. He’d like to see them.”

“Of course my Lord.” Castiel could see the slime and drool practically flowing off the man. The angel turned from the rat pretending to be a sentient being and noticed once again the teenager, who had stopped to look at them for a moment before he lowered his eyes and focused back on his work. 

“Dean get the fuck off there and show these Lords our stock.”

“But I…”

“Now, Dean!” The boy quickly handled the machine, turning it off before jumping down and kneeling properly in front of his superiors. At least this boy knew his place. 

“As you wish, my Lord.” There was no arrogance in his tone. Fear maybe, and a healthy dose of it, but at least this one understood their station. 

Several pots of pigments were pulled out and shown to them, before Castiel managed to pick some that were indeed of the quality that Balthazar had promised him. They were about ready to leave when a shorter form came out stumbling in front of them. It was as if Castiel could see the teenager’s heart fall still, before the human pulled the younger boy behind him. 

“I apologize my Lord, Sam didn’t mean to…” 

All the boy had done was fall down and nearly hit their wares. Castiel was about to say it was no problem when the owner stomped up and started screaming at the child. Yelling that he’d had it with the boy’s clumsiness. It was only now that Castiel noticed the pencils stacked far too high the boy had been carrying that were now spread out on the floor.

“The second these High Lords are gone, you’re headed to the market. Maybe someone there can beat some caution into you.” The boy flinched and Castiel almost felt affronted. No proper owner would beat a slave for something that clearly wasn’t their own fault. Especially in front of strangers. And selling your own blood for an affront that minor? It was one thing to sell a child in the hope he'd have a better life in an angel's custody, but to do so as a punishment. Castiel didn't fully understand why he felt as insulted as he did. The man was only human, his opinion shouldn't even begin to matter.

“How much?” The words left his mouth before he could stop himself. The fear in the older boy increased almost instantly. Castiel simply didn’t understand what frightened him so. Humans should be happy that an angel felt willing to take one of them under his care, give their life some kind of meaning. But instead, over and over they seemed to fall into fear at just the thought of it.

The dye merchant didn’t even hesitate to spit out a number, even though it was clear that both boys were family members, the sum he mentioned was higher than Castiel would normally choose to pay for an untrained human as young as the boy. But part of him felt sorry for the child, so he accepted.

“Don’t you think he’s a bit young to be a Catalyst, Cas?” Balthazar asked, before Castiel glared him down. Of course the child was too young, but it's not like he'd been planning to buy the boy for that reason to begin with.

Dean’s terror only seemed to rise at hearing Balthazar’s words, the boy started shaking, turning to his uncle, begging him not to sell his brother. Sell him instead, not Sam. The angel couldn't help becoming more and more interested in the older teen, ordering him closer. Dean hesitated for only a moment before kneeling down in front of him. Castiel placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, testing the boy’s blood, the strength inside of him. It was far more than he would have expected to find in any human at the market. 

“I’ll buy both.” Then he threw down double the money at the merchant’s feet. The man scrambled down to grab at the coins, muttering something about the older boy’s worth, as if he were about to complain that the price was too low, while staring at the machines. It was obvious that he wasn’t nearly as happy with losing the older teenager than he was about the boy’s younger sibling. A single glare made him shut up and accept the offer. 

Castiel grabbed a leash out of his pack and split it in two, before twisting one each around the boys’s necks, turning the leashes into makeshift collars as he did so. Dean got up and picked up his new master’s purchases before Castiel even had to order him to do so. Castiel could work with obedience as well. Especially in a Catalyst. Now all he had to do was get rid of the boy’s fear. Strong emotions weren’t that much of a problem, but he always preferred working with a neutral Catalyst over those overcome with darker emotions. It made it easier to work his magic. 

He didn’t bother to walk back to the estates, regardless of Balthazar’s grumbling. He grabbed hold of both boys and his Vessel and carried all three of them back home before they even left the door of the store. When they arrived, his new Catalyst looked a bit sick, while the younger boy stood stunned, staring around at everything he could see. 

Castiel called out for Ellen and sent her a message to come pick up the child. Ellen could find him a job in the kitchen, or wherever she needed the help. He quickly added an order to feed the boy first, and maybe get him something to wear. From the look of the both of them, their uncle had been as sparse with feeding them, as he'd been about their general wellbeing. He didn't hesitate another second before he grabbed Dean and flew him up to his workroom. He hoped that this Catalyst would last longer than his last one. Then again, he wasn’t planning to let the boy get his hands on a knife so he could kill himself either.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean knelt down as fast as he could, after putting down his new owner’s stuff. He hoped he’d misunderstood, that his owner hadn’t bought him as a Catalyst. But he knew his luck wasn’t that good. It never had been in the past. Not when their mother left without a word, not even a note. Not when they lost dad, because... Not when uncle Mike agreed to take them in. Dean had thought about refusing, he was close to being an adult, but even if he could take care of himself on the streets, he couldn't put his brother through that.

At least the angel had taken him, instead of Sam and they were still together. Dean just had to hang on long enough, so that Sam was too useful to their new master to be used up, the way a Catalyst would be. Dean had to be the best slave, the best Catalyst he could be. He had to obey, keep their master happy. It was the only way he had left to keep his word to his father, to follow his father's last command to him and make sure that Sam was safe. Sam was just a kid, a stupid, stubborn little brat who didn’t get how dangerous it was out there on his own. Who didn’t get how easy it would be to get picked up and used and thrown away. Like their dad had been, because Dean had been an idiot. Because Dean had been arrogant, and hadn’t kept his head down like he should have. And their dad had ended up paying the price because of it.

So when his master told him to undress for inspection, Dean tried to hide his flinch and obeyed, stuffing his amulet in a pocket to keep it safe before he stood up, embarrassed as hell, holding thin and awkward arms in front of his chest, until the Lord told him to put them down. Dean shivered at the feeling of the angels fingernails scratching into his skin. He was turned around, told to open his mouth, which was silly as hell, since he wasn’t a horse. Then again, he was a slave now, property, and even a horses life mattered more than that of a slave. A sharp fingernail moved over his arm, Dean flinched as the nail cut through skin, his blood dripping out of it. The angel held a cup and made him drip into it, before the hand moved over Dean’s veins a second time, this time closing the wound with a touch. 

Dean went to his knees as ordered and stayed out of the way and inside the symbol that the angel had ordered him on to. He watched and listened with his head properly bowed down, as the angel picked up the cup and poured water into it while speaking some sort of gibberish that Dean recognized as Enochian. The angel seemed to be testing for something, and Dean held his breath, hating himself for wishing that the angel would like the answer he got. He should be hoping to fail, that he’d be useless for whatever the angel needed a Catalyst for, and to be sent down to the kitchen or the stables or whatever else his owner could need a slave to do.

But he wasn’t. If he passed, then Sam was safe, then their owner wouldn’t bother with his brother. If their master was happy with him, maybe he’d be able to help Sam, make things better for his brother. Old Betty down the streets always said you'd be better off as an angel's property than living in the human slums. But then again, what else could she say, she'd sold her own five children, one by one just to pay off her gambling debts. Maybe she needed to believe that she'd done the right thing for them, because if she didn't she had nothing left to cling on to live for. 

The angel didn’t bother saying anything to his new human tool of course, he just plucked a feather out of his wing, pricking his finger with the point, letting five heavy drops of angelic blood mix with Deans before the wound closed. Then he pushed the soft edges of the feather in the concoction of human and angelic blood, washing the feather in the pink brown fluid before covering it with some other kind of dust. Dean shivered as the Angel approached him with the stained feather. He couldn’t help a shriek when the angel pushed through his skin, bringing even more blood to the surface along the path of the feather and painting Dean in a mixture of their blood. He knew he should try and run, but he didn’t, because he knew it would be useless and the angel would just pin him in place. He couldn't help thinking that at least if he had tried it would make him feel better. Would give him the feeling that he’d tried something. 

He didn't move, instead he fought to stand still so he wouldn't mess up whatever his master was doing At least no more than the pain could make him avoid. The soft command of “Stay.” Wasn’t even necessary. “That’s a good boy, just a little bit longer,” wasn't either. The angel drew some kind of symbol on Dean’s chest. By the time he turned over the feather and started using the soft end, every single touch against his skin felt like fire and Dean couldn’t help but pray to whomever would listen, to please keep his brother safe. It was silly, God didn’t care and the angels hated to be bothered.

He didn’t remember the end of it, just felt himself picked up and carried, and woke up some time later lying on a pallet in a corner of the room. He sat up and stared around, slowly but carefully checking out the area before his Master got back.

His chest was hurting, and he had trouble breathing. His mouth felt parched, as if he hadn’t drank in days. There was a bottle of water standing beside his cot, already opened. He brought it to his lips and sipped down some of the water, before putting the bottle down again. He didn't even consider whether the drink might be messed with. If it was, well it's not like it mattered, it's not like his master had to hide it if he wanted to drug his property.

It was hard to get up, even harder than it had been to sit up in the first place. He started staring around again, trying to find out where he was, what kind of place he was at, while the angel wasn't around to tell him off. He was lying on something he couldn't quite call a bed, cot was probably better to describe it. The mattress was soft, it felt better than the pile of rags he'd shared with Sam back at the workhouse. The wall was covered in dark wooden panel, while the floor felt cold with large ceramic tiles.

There was a painting in the middle of the room, filled with colors and figures, Enochian symbols and things he could only imagine as wings. Dean's fingers reached out, itching to touch the paint, but he pulled himself back. He didn’t want to piss off his new Master before the day was even halfway over. He got up from the cot, trying to stare around, explore, the effort of doing so hurt. He heard the sound of the door and tilted on his heels, one hand still holding his chest as if it would sooth the pain. The face coming through the door belonged to a stranger, a woman in her late thirties, about the age his mother should be, if she were still...

Dean wasn’t sure how he should behave, who the woman was or what he was expected to do. Should he say something? Should he stay quiet? Was he supposed to kneel, or would that be too much? It's not like he'd been handed a guide on 'how to be a slave', if they even made things like that. And hell, even if they did, it wasn't like he could read. The angels didn't like it when humans tried to act above their station, only a rare few of their kind were allowed to study, and it was a privilege only allowed for those chosen for the honor. He wasn't one of them. His brother only knew how because their grandfather had taught him, said it was important for at least one of them to learn. Dean had been too busy either working or acting out to bother.

The woman looked him over with a cold hard stare, Dean wished he could just disappear or melt into the floor. She didn’t seem to like what she was seeing. 

“What are you doing out of bed." she said, her tone harsh and stern. Dean flinched and took a step back, closer to the bed. He didn’t speak.

She placed the platter she was holding next to his cot and ordered him back down. “You’re going to need to keep your strength up, if you wish to serve the Master.”

Dean nodded and sat down, crossing his legs on the cot, staring at his food, until she told him to eat already. He bit in and finished his plate in little to no time. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been until the plate was finished and his stomach still growled.

He nearly collapsed in shame, trying not to seem ungrateful, he hadn’t been fed this much since he’d been a child and his mom had worked as a hunter. So how could he possibly still be hungry?

“It’s alright, boy." She came closer and touched his forehead, her voice kinder now. "The last Catalyst used to need three servings before he felt full. It takes a lot out of your body when the Master uses you like that.” Dean shivered at the thought, but gave her back the plate. “Can you even talk, boy.” 

“It’s Dean.” He said, angrier than he’d expected to be. He quickly looked away, putting his hands in his lap. Realizing for the first time since she’d entered that he was still naked. No reason for the Master to dress him, he guessed, even if he’d need to find his clothes.

“And it speaks.” But she didn’t seem angry, more amused. “I’ll see about getting you some more food. Anything else you need, boy.” This time the word wasn’t a push, more like a joke. He wasn’t sure what she expected.

“I just need to find my clothes, the Master had me take them off last night, but…” He hadn’t seen them anywhere when he woke up earlier.

“Sorry kid, he had them taken away with the trash after you passed out.”

He almost stopped breathing , Lord no, his amulet. The last reminder he had of his father, aside of his name, if they were even allowed to still keep that much, being slaves. Did slaves have last names?

“What?” The room was comfortably warm, but he couldn’t help the shiver. “But…”  
“Can’t go around disgracing our Master, Dean. He’ll get you clothes when you’ll need them. For now, just enjoy the blankets, the Master will be bringing you a collar soon as he remembers it.

There was nothing he could do or say, he couldn’t complain, he’d seen plenty of slaves walking around naked on the streets. If a master didn't think you needed clothes, then you didn't. They were only human after all. He'd pitied those slaves back then, their skin covered in goose bumps in the cold morning air, nobody cared if they got sick, their masters would just heal them if it bothered their productivity. At least he was inside, and warm, which was more than most humans could hope for if they didn’t have an angel to watch over them.

“Yes,” he wasn’t sure how to address her, so he went with the simplest option, “Madam.”

“Call me Miss Ellen." She once again placed her palm on his forehead as if to make sure. What she was making sure of, he didn't have a clue. "I am Lord Castiel’s housekeeper, cook and in charge of any and all slaves in the house.”

In other words, she was also the one in charge of punishments, and the one responsible for Sam.

“Yes, Miss Ellen.” Dean answered, as he covered himself under the blankets. Ellen knelt beside him and covered him back up. 

“Now sleep for a bit, I will bring more food later.”

Dean laid his head down on the pillow, he was asleep before she’d even left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt like the walls were coming at her as she left an innocent boy to suffer in the Master's workroom.

“Not Jo, it wasn’t Jo.” She whispered while moving downstairs, thinking of her daughter who should be busy doing dishes in the kitchen right now. Her daughter who was just as innocent as that boy was, her daughter who'd never felt the touch of a cane on her back, who'd never gone hungry, because Ellen would kill anyone who tried. She remembered the Master’s eyes on her daughter after the last Catalyst died. The way fear had settled in her stomach, worried sick that he’d order Jo to be Gordon’s replacement. 

Jo had the right blood for it, her uncle had been a Catalyst after all, it’s how Ellen had ended up at the mansion. Castiel hadn’t needed a Catalyst of his own, but since Ellen had the right blood he’d bought her anyway. She’d dodged that bullet when he’d bought Gordon instead. And now this boy, Dean would suffer instead of her daughter. She tried not to remember the bloodshot look in his eyes, the spots of blood on the sheets.

She came to the kitchen and found the homesteads other new aquisition with his hands in the water while her Jo was drying up. The boy looked up at her before quickly turning back to his work. Even if there was nothing she could do for his brother, at least she’d be able to look after this child. He looked so small, his file said he wasn't more than 13, only a year older than Jo. And who knows, if, no when their Master made them breed, at least Jo and the boy, Sam was his name, would be with someone they knew, rather than with a stranger who didn’t care about the other’s comfort. The way she had been lucky to get Bill assigned to her. She remembered those days, the foreman's eyes on her chest as they'd grown big enough to notice, his lingering hands on her ass. Until she'd taken to hiding just to avoid him. One day the Master found her hiding in a cupboard, the next day the foreman was gone, sold to the mines. No one ever heard from him again. Lord Castiel never said a word about it. He didn't have to, they all got the message. Ellen found herself married to Bill two weeks later.

She touched the emblem of her master's house on her shirt and continued walking down the hall, each step one bit further from the workroom, one step further from doing something stupid and just getting that kid out of the building and somewhere safe. One step further from risking not just her own life, but that of her daughters. She didn't mind about her own, but Jo... She couldn't pick anyone over Jo, not ever.

The Lord Castiel was an artisan. he built magical artifacts for heaven that made him respect even in the Lord Lucifer's highest circles. He was also an artist of high renown amongst his fellow angels and was a scholar who wrote scholarly transcripts on the nature of magic and souls. His library filled with tomes both in Enochian and human scriptures was one of the most well respected collections of arcane knowledge in the western half of the continent. Most of all, he was a master in creating new magic, not just combining older symbols into something else, but more than that, he created new symbols and give them meaning. But like any true creator, he needed power to do so. And the most potent force of energy known to man and angels was those found in the mixture of soul and blood. It was what God had created humans for, to serve as tools for Lords of heaven, to serve on earth, and for the faithful and obedient to be allowed into the glory of heaven to strengthen the host with the force of their souls. A true artisan like Castiel could bind even a drop of human blood into fuel to power one of his pieces for years to come, centuries, even millennia if he didn’t worry about draining his Catalyst in one go. But Castiel was never that wasteful. Castiel was a good master. Ellen knew this, he wouldn't be wasteful. He wouldn't. And she'd believe it too, if not for the look in Gordon's eyes when he took his own life, condemning his soul to hell, just so he'd finally be free of heaven's power.

She started on dinner, the master’s favorites first and a second meal for the new Catalyst, for Dean. He’d need the fuel, especially just starting out as he was now. It wasn’t until she’d sent Jo out with the Master’s meal, teaching her to be useful, to have a purpose; and Sam to the workroom to bring Dean his, giving the boy a chance to see his brother, that she dared to start on the other slaves meal. There were about 26 of them in the house, including herself and the Catalyst, and all of them had to be fed and kept in shape according to their duties. 

Castiel cared about keeping all his slaves well fed. He was a good Master, a caring Master, he wouldn't cause harm, he wouldn't...She said a quick prayer of thanks to their kind master before moving on. She had work to do.

 

*****

Sam's feet faltered as he went up the stairs, following the directions that Miss Ellen had given him. To the left, up the stairs, third door on the right, and then the second set of stairs up the tower. The plate shook in his hands. He’d always been a bit clumsy and if he dropped the tray that Miss Ellen had given him, he wouldn’t just be punished for damaging his master’s property, he’d be keeping Dean hungry as well. The door of the hallway was closed and Sam leaned up against the door to push it open without dropping the plate. It would be easier if he had a place to put it down, but there wasn't anywhere around to do so.

He continued down the hall and reached the door. He settle the plate with one hand for a second before knocking on the door and froze as a strange voice told him to enter. No, not a strange voice. The master was there, he was supposed to be in his own room at this time, Sam wondered how he could warn Jo about this. Would she be in trouble if the master didn't get his meal? Was Sam supposed to tell him his dinner was ready?

Sam knew his brother thought he was naive, that Sam was supposed to be protected from knowing too much about the reality of their situation. Like how Dean had been working double shifts, just so he could say he learned a trade and be able to support Sam. It's the only reason, Dean hadn't just taken him and ran after their uncle took them in. Well not really uncle, he'd just demanded them to call him that. He was a cousin twice removed or something like that. Taking in orphans was supposed to be this highly approved action, it meant you took a load off from the authorities, keeping children out of the workhouses, and it gave you free labor for as long as the child in question hadn't paid off their debt to you. It was hard sometimes to see the difference between one kind of slavery and the other. But he guessed that at least with their uncle, there would have been an eventual end date. Dean could have paid off his debt, earned money to pay for Sam's, and then they could have both been off and done whatever they pleased. As long as it fit within the laws and the rules of the angels of course.

The door creaked as it opened and he stared inside, slightly blinded by the light coming from the windows as he came in from the dark. The master stood on the other side of the room, staring at a selection of sticks on the table, as if he was checking them over. He pulled them out one by one, his hands moving gently over the wood as he rolled each one over his palms before placing it back on the table.

Sam stared at the plate he was carrying, he wondered if he should ask permission to continue, as he looked around, trying to find Dean. 

“Eat. ” The Master spoke. It took Sam a few seconds before he realized that their Master was talking to Dean, and not to him.

Dean who sat on a bed in the corner, leaning up against a giant tapestry that hung from the ceiling to the floor, halfway hidden beneath a heavy woolen blanket. For a moment Sam was jealous, thinking of the thin flannel sheets on his own cot, but then he realized what would be asked of Dean and he hated himself for being a selfish ass. Dean was here because of him, Dean could...

Sam trembled, he’d wanted to check up on his brother, ask him if he was alright, ask him how the master was treating him. But he didn’t dare do so with the Master in the same room. Everyone knew that you didn’t question anything the Masters did, and if one of them was in the room, you kept your mouth shut and hoped they weren't listening to your thoughts. Obedience is good, rebellion is evil, to question the rules of heaven was insanity. Dean definitely wouldn't.

Sam placed the plate on a small table by Dean’s bed, and watched his brother kneel beside it. He couldn’t find any new scars, but then, why would there be any, it’s not like the angels would need to leave any, especially so early on.

Dean looked at him, Sam could feel his brother's appraisal of him, and tried to smile to put his brother at ease, even as he tried to find out if his brother needed his help. Dean seemed to be pleased with what he saw and Sam sighed in relief. He waited a few minutes for Dean to finish, his hands behind his back, just to make sure they weren't accidentally at any place their master didn't want him touching. Dean burped as he finished his plate. Sam fought the rising chuckle, feeling stronger for having been near Dean, even if only for a few minutes. Then he grabbed the now empty plate and headed to the door.

“Wait.”And this time the command had definitely been aimed at him. He froze in place. The master grabbed up the packet of sticks he’d been working on. “Bring these to Lord Balthazar and be quick about it.”

Sam stood there trembling for a few seconds, but he managed to say a quick: “Yes, sir” before running off, the door fell shut in his wake.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel ignored the way the door fell shut as the human boy ran off, back to the kitchen. He let the humans worry about food, it's not like he needed it as an angel, but he'd learned a long time ago that it made humans feel more comfortable if he pretended to have the same needs that they did. And it did seem to make his Vessel feel better if he ate and slept regularly. Not that it mattered, it was only a Vessel, but he was just getting used to his current one, and he'd hate to have to go look for another lineage if he burned through his current one too quickly.

He turned back to his Catalyst, the boy’s soul was charging up nicely, and much faster than he’d expected. He guessed that the family had to come from a Vessel lineage, which would have made him far more expensive if his guardian had known about it. Castiel vowed to check into it. He was pretty certain that the guardian himself did not share the same lineage. Castiel threw a quick glance at the remainder of the grounds, the maids and kitchen aids, the grounds men looking after his gardens and animals and of course the guards keeping out stray humans too stupid to realize the mansion belonged to an angel. They'd had to deal with a series of attempted thefts, poaching, and even a few escape attempts since Lord Lucifer had given him the grounds in rewards for one of his finer creations.

Heaven knew he didn’t really need as many slaves as he did, but he always felt sorry for the poor animals living on the streets. At least here they were well taken care of during their short time on earth. He'd often made sure that if a thief was caught on his grounds, that after the thief was caught and executed, that their children ended up in his serving staff. He wasn't about to leave a set of children to die of starvation, simply because their parents was a fool.

Sometimes he thought he'd been on earth too long, adapting too much to the mud monkeys surrounding him. He knew it tended to affect many of them, like Balthazar who'd given in to lust and greed because of their influence.

He remembered how it used to be, the peace of heaven, the joy of singing their father's praise alongside his brothers. The heavens had been filled with laughter and discovery in those days, the only thing you had to worry about was one of Uriel's or Gabriel's pranks. Castiel remembered standing over the oceans with his older brothers standing over them to make sure they didn't screw up their father's plans. Micheal and Lucifer had loved one another, once upon a time, they'd been the best of friends amongst all angels. And none of them had thought that anything could ever come between them. Until it all went to waste as the mudmonkeys started crawling out of the dirt and their father's attention shifted from his first children to his new creation. Their father seemed so pre-occupied, testing them for reasons no angel could possibly understand. And then the order came, brought by Michael, that all angels were to bow down before man and love them as they did the Lord God.

Half of heaven had been in an uproar at the insult, the other half felt broken, but far too many had stood ready to do what they'd been told regardless. Their father's will was theirs, they were angels, free will was not supposed to be theirs. Until Lucifer, until he rose and said "No more, we do have a choice". And he chose to refuse.

Lord Lucifer had fought for angelic freedom and the right to rule the earth as it was their due. At first their Lord had wanted to destroy all of humanity, wipe away their stain from the earth. But several of his senior commanders had suggested against it. Talking about the power of human souls, about the usefulness of Vessels if they wanted to interact with their father’s last true creation without damaging it. And their father had created them, so destroying them would be blasphemy against the Lord God. Because despite the insult, despite the abandonment, they still loved their Father and did not want to turn wholy against him. 

So now humanity served on earth as they did in heaven, their souls fueling the power of heaven after their death, as their labor did while they were on earth. Stuck in an endless loop of happy memories. According to Lucifer it was more than they deserved. But as Gods creations, and in thanks for their loyal service, how could heaven give them any less than that. Castiel assumed that this was a test, the Lord God testing how they would treat his new creations, even after His insult, even after He'd made ti clear who his favorites were. Maybe He had intended his first children to have free will all along and He'd just wanted to give them to a reason to grab for it.

Michael had protested the decisions. He had stood up against Lucifer, the Morningstar, and had assembled a group of followers. Michael and his had claimed that God's demand on them had not been an insult, that it had been their father trusting this children with his most precious possession. Setting them up as guardians in their Father's name. He claimed that protecting the filthy little monkeys as if they were their superiors was some kind of honour. It was an affront against everything the host believed in.

Lucifer had laughed in his older brother’s face and struck him down before he’d even realized what was happening. Most of heaven hadn’t even had a chance to pick sides before Lucifer won and locked Michael and his up in the pit. Punishing them for all time for their betrayal against the Host. After that, it was easy to see who’d been right and who’d been wrong, if God had truly been on Michael’s side, Lucifer wouldn’t have stood a chance at defeating him. And if many landed down at the site of Michael's fall and knelt in mourning for the one who'd once been the first and greatest amongst them, then Lucifer never had to know.

But the trust was gone, vile whispers amongst the host claimed that one day Michael would rise for another battle against Lucifer and that Man’s final faith would be decided that day. But Castiel couldn’t imagine why anyone would risk it. Life was good and humans were better off now than they’d been before heaven took control. Why any angel who cared about humanity would abandon them to the ravages of free will, and allow them to waste their life in the meaningless drudgery of freedom went beyond his understanding. They were only animals. If free will was this hard to deal with for angels, then how could a race as limited as humanity ever hope to deal with it?

Castiel called Dean towards him, the boy got up from his cot. He was almost the size of Castiel’s Vessel and had a remarkably fair face for a human not bred for his appearance. If the boy had been of his line, and if he’d needed a new Vessel anytime soon, Dean would have been a prime pick as a replacement. Castiel hoped he wasn’t depriving one of his brothers and sister from their Vessel, but if he had, he was sure they’d let him know soon enough. Vessels lines were too precious to lose track of them for too long.

Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t still left the younger brother to continue the line if needed. Just like he had insured that his current vessel had propagated and would be able to continue his line once James soul grew to weak to serve. James had had a daughter when Castiel took him, she had had two sons, whom in their turn had beget three children each. They lived in the realms of luxuary amongst the privileged few, favored above all the remainder of humanity.

Castiel brushed his fingers over the mark he’d left on the Catalysts chest, feeling it heal underneath the skin, a constant drum of energy originating in the boy’s soul. His Vessel's hands left dark bruises wherever his fingers touched as he pushed harshly along the boys chest and thighs, seeing just how much the human could take. Castiel noticed Dean biting his lip, he could feel the tension in the boy's body as if he stop himself from screaming. He could feel it resonating from the boy's soul, the need to be good, the need not to disappoint his owner. It both pleased and annoyed him in equal measure.

“Let it out.” He whispered. “There’s no need for pretence. If I didn’t want to hear your voice, I would have silenced it already.” 

hat’s when the boy started screaming. Castiel leaned even closer, his nails scratching along the boy’s skin, leaving dark red trails of blood, a lovely contrast on the boy's suntanned skin. Castiel's wings surrounding them both, keeping Dean in place. Just because the human wasn’t planning to run, didn’t mean his body wouldn’t try once instincts took over. The soft tips of feathers brushed past the boy's skin, causing him to flinch and his body to hiccup.

Castiel went deeper and deeper, until his nails were drenched in blood and Dean sank to his knees as Castiel touched the boy’s soul, charging himself on his living property. It felt like a blaze, overpowering him, and pushing him aside as if he were nothing, a mere fly, rather than the soul’s master. 

Dean lay in a heap of his own blood and flesh and Castiel got up and stooped towards him, healing the boy’s injuries with a simple tap on the boy's forehead. He collected the blood, refusing to waste it and started on another piece of art, trying to paint the soul that had resisted his efforts. To a human’s eyes, his painting would be little more than swirls of red and white. But to an angel, they would see the full complexity of the soul, they’d be able to almost touch it and taste it. He lingered in the feel of it, the emotions and fire inside of it just a mere reflection of the boy's actual soul and almost a calming comfort in comparison. he already knew he’d be showing this in his new collection.

Some time later he turned around, noticing that Dean had crawled back to his cot, lying there curled up on his side. His arms clung tightly to his body, trying to control the tremors wracking his frame... The human flinched when Castiel came closer. Castiel didn’t bother to speak to him, just picked up the blanket from the end of the bed and opened it, gently covering the teen's body with the comforter. He hated admitting it, but he loved the feel of the boy’s skin underneath his. If he’d been Balthazar, he’d probably have commanded the human to his bed already. Maybe he should, get rid of some of the tension between them. Humans liked sex, didn’t they?

He stared down again, before picking the boy in his arms, blankets and all. Dean trembled as he opened his eyes, staring up at his master as Castiel gently held him, his weight as light as a feather. He flew them both to his own bedchambers and covered the boy in the silk of his own bedsheets. His lips brushing past Dean’s thighs, as his wings caressed the depth of his back. Dean just stared at him for a moment longer before turning away. Respectfully of course, but it made Castiel lose all interest in taking what should be his. He wanted those green eyes on him at all times and not just because he commanded it. It was wrong, so wrong, the boy was beneath him. Dean wouldn't resist, he'd find it an honor, and yet, feeling the fear, well hidden as it might be to another human, he felt repulsed at the idea of forcing himself on the boy, no matter how willing the boy might make his body to be.

He shouldn't be confusing the young human like this, he should have just left him in the workroom, send him back, right now and act as if he'd made a mistake. But he didn’t order the boy back to the workroom, nor did he leave the bed himself, they just lay there, Castiel’s Vessel and his Catalyst until Dean’s frail body finally gave up in exhaustion and fell asleep in his Masters arms.

Castiel’s meal went uneaten and fell to the pigs later that evening.


	5. Chapter 5

It took Dean quite some time to get used to his Masters strange habits. Sometimes he'd fall asleep in the workroom, only to awaken in his Master's bed, on others he'd still be awake when his Master carried him there. And yet on other nights, he'd be left in the workroom and wake up as the sun rose in the workroom's window. He liked those best, because then he'd know what to do as he got out of bed and cleaned himself up before setting up the Master's tools. He knew he didn't have to, but it made him feel better to be doing something. It made him wonder what was wrong with him, that he'd prefer setting up the tools of his inevitable pain over waking up in the warmth of his Master's bed. Most of the time as he woke up, his Master was already gone, and the one time he hadn't, Dean had tried to be of service. Lord Castiel had stopped him without saying a word. Dean felt embarrassed to think that his Master would even be interested in the likes of him.

This morning as Dean woke up in his new Master’s mansion, he didn’t bother to get up right away. If his master wanted him gone, he’d be in the workroom already, and if his Master wanted something else, there would have been orders, somehow. As a result, he stayed in bed until one of the other slaves came in and noisily started cleaning the room to make it clear how much they wanted Dean out of the way so they could finish. Dean turned around one last time, pulling his Master's pillow over his head to keep out the light for a second longer before he finally pushed the sheets off of his body and got up to his feet.

He moved to the chair in the corner and grabbed the shorts that his Master had finally been kind enough to provide. Dean often thought about asking the angel for more, but every time he came close to saying something, he got a good look of his masters hands and the cleanness of his nails and he decided against it. 

In the past few days he’d been cut, torn open and bled more times than he thought possible. Yet his body didn’t carry a single scar. Even the stripes he’d gotten from his uncle’s cane, or the burns on his fingers from working in the kitchens and his uncle’s factory were long gone. Their master didn’t want him marked, so he wasn’t. So it was obvious that his Master didn't want any clothes to get in his way as he used Dean to the purpose he'd been bought for.

Dean slowly left the bedroom and entered his master’s bathroom, dragging out his shower. He knew it annoyed the hell out of Bela but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t allowed to actually do anything in the house, other than to serve as his master’s Catalyst and occasional bed warmer. It’s not like he’d even wanted the position in the first place. He’d tried to find something to do, but their Master had given him a stern glare and told him to leave that to the other slaves. They all had strict duties to perform and how could the head of the serving staff, Miss Ellen, check if someone was doing their work well or not, if slaves started picking up one another’s duties. It wasn't up to them to choose and the sooner he realized that, the better.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried to make it easier on the other slave. Those first days he'd done everything in his power to stay out of her way, he'd acted like a good little slave as if his life depended on it, and had stayed out of her sight to as high a degree as he could manage. But she’d decided to hate his guts no matter what he did to change that. She'd only yelled at him once, freezing when the master had entered the room, but her glare was pretty much a permanent fixture on her face.

When Dean did leave the room, he made sure to kick the towels with his foot to have them spread out on the floor even as he put his toothbrush away and slowly slid the brush in it's appropriate place. They were his, the same ones that were in the workroom, but somehow they seemed to follow Dean wherever he woke up in the house. Dean didn't question it. He smirked as he saw the look she threw him at the sight of the towels and stamped his wet feet on the newly cleaned floor just to annoy her even more. He headed down the stairs to the common room, hoping that Miss Ellen could tell him if his Master had left her any orders for him. She just sent him to the garden, telling him he needed some sun, before turning back to the soup.

He stopped at the door and slipped his feet into the sandals left there for him. Master forbid if he dared to scratch his feet and lose any of his precious blood when his master wasn’t around to collect it. Of course he'd be expected to take them back off as soon as he came back in, but it was nice to have something on his feet again, even if they were just these flimsy things. He walked over the path, not wanting to get his sandals wet by walking on the grass. The entire garden was filled with flowers. Small rabbits played freely on the grounds and hopped in between the humans walking around doing their jobs. 

They weren't what he was looking for though. It took him a while before he found Sam, but he did when he heard Rufus voice sounding loud enough to be heard from acres around them. Sammy was kneeling over something in the flowerbeds. The old gardener was explaining to him and two younger girls about the difference between useful herbs and weeds that needed to be removed. Using his hands to show exactly what would happen if they tore out the wrong ones. Dean almost felt bad to interrupt it, since he knew how much Sam loved to learn new things, but he couldn't help warming up as his brother jumped to his feet almost as soon as the kid spotted him.

Rufus grumbled something about how kids no longer knew how to focus on their work, but since he didn't say anything to Sam about sticking around and doing his job, it was obvious he didn't care. 

It was a warm day, so Dean wasn’t too bothered by his lack of attire. He figured that Lord Castiel would probably heal him if he did get a sunburn, making him wonder what Castiel would do if Dean decided to roll around int he dirt and got cut somehow. He couldn’t help but throw a jealous glance at Sam and the other kids' uniforms. Black jeans, covered with a yellow sweatshirt that held their master’s logo on the back. It was tacky as hell, especially with their master who was supposed to be some kind of artist, but at least they were fully dressed. He held his hand over his head to shield his eyes from the sun. By now he’d even prefer wearing those silly caps they got to put on their heads.

The kids were still being tested, they were too young to be given a full time duty, and until then they were assigned wherever needed to see which job best fit their capacities. Dean wondered if he should tell Miss Ellen that Sam could read. It could give him a better job, but it might get him punished as well, depending on how strict their master was in regards to what humans were or weren’t allowed to learn. It was hard to tell with Castiel. At times he was the most lenient master imaginable, but at others he could tear the skin of your back for the least step put out of line.

All conversation stopped the second Lord Castiel and Lord Balthazar appeared in the gardens, Dean could feel cold tension grab hold of his spine as his master approached him. He’d been drained of blood the day before and he still felt bone tired because of it. Both him and Sam fell to their knees, head bowed down, expecting for the Master to make his demands

Instead the master lifted his head, forcing Dean to look up at him, before pulling him up to standing position. The master’s wings surrounded him and Dean couldn’t help feeling their warmth, he had to fight the urge to lean into him. He wondered when he’d started trusting the angel that owned them. He was still wondering about that later as he was hung over a basin, his arms tied above his head as the master used one of his feathers to make several cuts all over his body, covering his fingers in Dean’s blood as it drained down. What worried him most was how sometimes, his masters fingers and lips on him made him grow hard even as the blood dripped out of his veins.

He wondered how long it would take before even the mere scent of his own blood would make him get hard.

 

*****

 

"It's like he lives to make life harder for me. Thinking he's so much better than everyone else"

Ellen couldn’t help but roll her eyes as Bela was complaining about Dean again. When would the girl learn? Sometimes Ellen wanted to grab one of her spoons and beat the crap out of any of the other slaves who seemed to think that Catalysts like Dean lived the easy life. Of course, they didn’t get to see the boy, exhausted beyond belief as he lay wasted on his cot after one of their masters sessions. 

Bella wasn't the one who had to try and get Dean to eat when he could barely keep a spoon of his meal inside before pushing his head aside, barely keeping from throwing up all over his plate. And most of all she wouldn’t have to be the one to console the boy’s brother eventually, when Dean’s body would collapse under the stress their master put on it. Very few Catalysts lasted more than fifteen years, if even that. 

Not that Bela cared about any of that. All she could see was the luxury of sleeping in the master’s bed. Even though Dean was probably happier when he didn’t have to serve his master the night before. She didn’t see the pain the boy went through and would still have to deal with in the future. Not Bela, hell the foolish girl had tried to seduce the Master once, it got her sent to the yard to muck the stables for a week just to keep her out of the Master's way. Not that that had taught her the right lesson. She just got pissed at the stable master and whined until Garth had begged Ellen to please get her back to the main house and keep her away from him. 

Bela didn't even realize that her return wasn't a mercy on her, but on everyone else around her. Just too bad that Ellen and her staff weren't as lucky. 

The girl was a fool. All she saw was the first class food Dean got to eat, or the fact that he didn’t have to do any obvious work. She thought he was nothing more than a glorified bedwarmer, the nicer term for a pet for sexual use. Bela had figured form the start that an angelic household would be run like that of those few privileged humans high enough upon the ranks to acquire wealth and standing. Getting human pets to quench their lust and keep them from getting tired with their wives or husbands.

It wasn’t all Bela’s fault. Not the way she’d been raised. Her parents had been rich, influential. They thought that their wealth and power would keep them safe even as they spouted their Michaelista nonsense. Talking about human freedom, collecting forbidden books, and worst of all, speaking out against Lord Lucifer and how he held humanity down, even as their own slaves stood exhausted on their feet.

Ellen was too old to believe in fairytales. She remembered when talk of rebellion and freedom had sounded good. But that was before Bill died at a demon’s hands in one of their rebellions. That was before her daughter had lost her father and Ellen had had to prove her loyalty to heaven just to keep what little she had left.

But not Bela, no, Bela was raised to believe in human superiority, to believe that some day the era of humanity would begin, so when heaven sent in its troops and executed her parents, Bela had had no choice but to stand back and watch her family’s fall from grace. Only the next day, when the notables had come, instead of getting her inheritance as she'd expected, she’d been taken and sold as part of her parents possessions. And now, instead of getting raised as a rich socialite, she ended up being a chamber maid in an angelic homestead. She felt it was beneath her, and maybe it was. But that wasn’t Dean’s fault, and the sooner that Bela understood that, the better she’d be off.


	6. Chapter 6

He was sick, twisted, perverted.

Castiel couldn’t help it, he knew that Balthazar was right. Dean was just a human, a pretty human, but still nothing more than any of the other apes surrounding them. And yet, he couldn’t help his urge to touch the boy’s skin, to put lips on the human’s wounds and worse than that, the urge to keep him to himself, to keep him safe. 

Balthazar said it was because he still hadn’t taken the boy to his bed. But he had, and he told his brother that, his brother just laughed in his face. In fact the other angel seemed about ready to choke on his own laughter.

“Cas, bro, - If you want to use him as a teddybear and snuggle him all night through, then as his owner, that's your full right to do. But you know as well as I do, that that isn't close to what I meant about taking him to your bed. And it definitely isn't what you need to do to get over this obsession of yours." Castiel felt embarrassed at even the lewd tone of his brother's words."What you need to do, brother, is to order him to his knees, have him suck you off, get his hands on your dick, get the proper feel of that nice ass of his and fill him with your seed. Or hell, get his dick in your ass if that's more to your liking. Whatever, but just stop treating that thing as if he's something you can't have whenever you please. Maybe if you did you'd finally get over this need of yours and start seeing him as the piece of property he is. A fine piece of property, but nothing more than that.”

So night and night again, Castiel had Dean undress and crawl into his bed, but each night he could feel the boy tremble at his touch, feel the fear ringing in Dean's soul, even as the teen pretended to be willing, pretended to want whatever his master would give him. And shame filled Castiel's heart. So much so that he couldn’t bring himself to do it, couldn’t force himself on the boy. It was sick, stupid, Dean was only human, no more than an animal, with little more than basic emotions invading his body. And yet, the sheer touch of those feelings was enough to make Castiel pull back and do nothing.

Instead he took Dean’s blood and his pain, and made it his, putting his passion in the art that Dean helped him create, instead of forcing it on Dean, even as he leaned closer to Castiel’s vessel during the night and cuddled in his master’s arms while both ignored the way Castiel’s dick swelled at Dean’s touch and presence. Castiel actually managed to stay in bed for most of the night when Dean was there, as if there was finally a reason for him to do so, even if it was only his Vessel that slept.

He didn't know why he kept refusing Dean clothes. On one hand it made it easier for him to use his Catalyst if he didn't have to wait for him to fully undress before every session. But if he was honest with himself, that wasn't the real reason, and it definitely wasn't why his eyes kept going back to Dean, even when the boy thought he was alone. It refreshed his soul, being around other humans, carrying on little human things like laughing and playing, they were useful, made him last longer. All angels knew that.

And yet, every time he watched Dean with his younger brother he couldn’t help but intrude on them and claim the human as his. Part of him seemed to want to scream at Samuel, to mark Dean, even as he healed him right after, just so the both humans knew who Dean really belonged to. It was silly, childish, human even and far below anything an angel should be acting like. But he couldn't help himself, pouring his grace into the human’s flesh as if to leave something behind beyond exhaustion and suffering.

There was nothing wrong with having a favorite pet, Castiel insisted to himself. Plenty of angels had favorite humans whom they paid special attention to. He wasn’t the only angel who’d gotten attached. Though most other angels were smart enough not to pick their Catalyst as their pets. It made him wonder, maybe he should buy a new Catalyst and keep Dean at his feet, teach the human to be fed from his fingers and dress him up in see through silk to show him off along with his art. 

But when he even hinted at that possibility, Dean seemed to freeze up and beg his Master for forgiveness, telling him he’d be better, do whatever Castiel wanted, as if he didn’t do so already. Cas had held him close and told him what a good boy he was, that he had nothing to fear, that Castiel would never let him go, that Dean was his. And all that time, the only word going through Dean’s head was ‘Sam’, it almost made him hate the younger boy on basic principle.

Despite his recent obsession, life went on, even if he seemed utterly unable to ignore the human's presence in his life as he could with his other slaves. The young human was obedient of course, but there were times that Castiel found him sitting on the furniture or taking a swipe from his master’s plate. Of course he’d only done the latter after Castiel had already finished, but it wouldn’t do to allow humans to get too comfortable with their master’s possessions, especially with themselves.

He’d been waiting to see if Dean would dare to touch himself, even as the boy still trembled in terror at his master’s touch. But Castiel had yet to catch him doing so even once. Yet oddly enough, Dean seemed to believe that his Master was the confusing one. He’d even gone as far once as to demand a list of rules, so he could at least follow those. Castiel didn’t understand why, his rules made common sense, didn’t they? But Balthazar had smirked when Castiel told him that, so Castiel had agreed and written down a list for Dean to memorize. Somehow getting two hundred pages of rules didn’t seem to please his Catalyst either.

And credit given where it’s due, Dean did seem to be making the effort to actually memorize the list, even if he had called in his brothers help to be able to read them. It made Castiel decide that maybe, just maybe it would be a good idea to check if any of his other slaves could read, it would be quite disappointing to find out that none of them bothered to try and read the notes he left for them when needed. Though it would explain some things…

 

*****

 

Sam still couldn’t believe it. His feet hurt walking home from school, carrying his bag home and he'd never been happier. Some of the kids at the school hated being there. They were the ones in the back of the class, talking, joking, ignoring the teachers. So sure that they'd have to be there the next day and the day after, and that nothing could possibly take this opportunity away from them.

He stared at the books the master had ordered him to study, and the courses he’d been ordered to take. But most of all the privilege he'd been given to learn and study and read. Some of the other kids in class had offered to pay him to do their book reports for them. Sam stood stunned at the notion that anyone would be anything less than grateful for the right to read, to open a book and go through it, without the fear that someone would come in and punish him for doing something above his station. He'd hesitated for a moment, but had agreed, more for the chance to get his hands on their books, than for the money they paid for it.

Some of the other students looked down on him, the slave, but his teachers loved him and his eagerness to learn. Of course it helped that most of them were slaves like he was and nobody understood better than a slave just how thin the illusion of freedom really was where humans were concerned.

Master had told Miss Ellen that the homestead could use a new clerk for all of the Master’s contracts and dealings. And so he’d be allowed to study economics, laws, be given the opportunity to become a scholar and he was allowed to read any book he wanted to in his Master's library, as long as it didn’t get in the way of his chores or studies.

It felt like he’d stepped into heaven, without even dying first. He couldn’t help the guilt creeping in that he was given this opportunity at the cost of his brother’s suffering, but when he said something like that to Dean, Dean just called him a bitch and ruffled his hair before his eyes lit up and his entire face seemed to grow softer. Dean just looked so happy at the idea of Sam getting this opportunity that it made Sam even more insistent on succeeding in whatever purpose their master wanted from him.

Before his chores had gone all across the house and gardens. The usual thing with kids, the overseers couldn't know what you were capable of, if they didn't try you in various duties. Now that his duty and training had been assigned, his chores all served as part of his education. He was taught how to serve at his master's table, so that if his master took him along for business purposes, he wouldn't just have to stand around and wait for his Master to call on him, but be able to make himself useful. He was taught etiquette and proper behavior in business environments, so he would one day be able to serve as his Master's agent, even when the Master wasn't there with him. Ellen had even promised him that once he was further into his schooling, his master would get him a card for the public library and allow him to take home whatever books he wanted to.

Part of his chores and training it seemed was to follow their Master on one of his rare trips to the city, especially since the Master would soon have a showing of his art. Sam was carrying the master’s briefcase, ready to hand over whatever materials the master needed, while Dean was supposed to do nothing but look pretty and sit at their master’s feet, keeping ready to offer the Master his blood if the Master needed it. Sam felt embarrassed on his brother's behalf.

The wry smile Dean gave at those orders pretended to be carefree, but Sam knew his brother well enough to know how worried Dean was about setting a foot wrong. Especially after the list that Lord Castiel had given him. Sam had helped Dean in memorizing it by putting it all on a beat, but that didn’t mean that it was easy, especially since Sam had had to teach Dean to read some of the words on top of helping him memorize the rules. It broke the rules, it was wrong, and he didn't want to upset the best Master they could have possibly ended up with. But he didn't want his brother to get hurt either.

Sam wondered if Lord Castiel intended for Dean to fail? Maybe the master just wanted an excuse so he could punish Dean? He definitely seemed to enjoy cutting him up. But then, the master didn’t really need an excuse to do that. If he wanted to hurt Dean, he could. Dean was his property, they all were. And so far, his punishments had been easier to handle than uncle Mike’s had been. Sam tried to shrug it off and focused his attention back to this master’s briefcase, kneeling down as soon as they arrived at the gallery. He left the pillow for Dean, knowing that his brother's naked knees would be far more vulnerable than his own clothed ones. 

A strange man came up to them, broad smile on his face as he greeted Lord Castiel. There was something wrong with the way he smiled, something felt off. He wasn’t an angel, but he wasn’t human either. Sam shivered when the demon displayed his red eyes before leading all three of them into the building. None of them expected the red lights that started flashing as both humans went past the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Request/Kink/Scenario:  
> 1\. knife!kink: anything from small pocket knifes to daggers and swords.  
> 2\. bloodplay: no drinking, more like drawing with it. Works best with kink no.1  
> 3\. wing!kink: angels all over the place here. Extra goodies if the wings are somewhat "dark" like hurting the other person, or getting hurt themselves. Works best in combination with the first two. :-)


End file.
